


The Significance Of Moving On

by hp-rbiim (rbiim)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, Domestic, Ficlet, M/M, Office Work, POV Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rbiim/pseuds/hp-rbiim
Summary: Potter had said, “Let’s be friends.” He looked at Draco meaningfully, as if this was something Draco was supposed to naturally understand.





	The Significance Of Moving On

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Ruth for the beta! I couldn't have caught all these errors without you.  
> This is something that came to me at 3am and I couldn't help myself.

Potter brought him to the forest, once. The forbidden one where ‘it’ happened.

He told him what had happened there, but Draco didn’t really care, not in the way that someone was supposed to. It wasn't that he didn't care about Potter, because he did. He cared for Potter. The rest, however, Draco would rather remember less of. Except, the Dark Lord was hard to forget.

If anything, what this forest meant to Draco were of two different things than what it had meant to Potter: the first of which was the significance of his mother’s choice; the second was that this was the place Potter brought him in resolution of moving on from their school rivalry.

Draco had asked him why he was telling him all of this. It certainly wasn't of any particular relevance to what was then a bare-bones acquaintanceship for work.

Potter had said, “Let’s be friends.” He'd shifted his weight from foot to foot in that awkward way of his, one hand mussing up his hair. “We’re moving on. All of us.” He looked at Draco meaningfully, as if this was something Draco was supposed to naturally understand.

Well, Draco didn’t understand, not in the instinctual way he supposed Potter had meant. However, he’d been raised to act a certain way, so Draco agreed -- and that was that.

It’d been months now. Potter’s hair was still unruly as ever. He’d spent so much time just staring at the dastardly tuft atop a single Golden Boy that it practically communicated its own language to him.

“ _Potter_ ,” said Draco. “Robards wants the papers on the recent potions trafficking case, get on it before he sends me back to you every hour like a blasted reminder remembrall.”

“What? As if I didn’t send those to him yesterday!”

“The _proper_ papers, Potter. Not the brief summary of what you -- lead Auror on the case, mind -- believe to be relevant. The _whole_ and _complete_ thing.” When his fellow Auror failed to respond, Draco exhaled and stuck out his open hand. 

“I don’t have it right now,” said Potter, unmoved.

“I know. Just give me the papers you _do_ have and _I’ll_ do it.” Draco gestured with his hands to further illustrate his point. It was hard getting through to Potter sometimes. It was clear by the cowlick at the back of Potter’s head that he didn’t get enough sleep last night. 

“What do you mean?”

Draco sighed. “You know what I mean, give it over. We both know you don’t want to do it. Just let me handle it, it’ll be quicker for both of us, then we can both get on with our lives.”

“Right...” Potter was reluctant, but eventually, after a nonplussed brow arch and eye rolls full of criticism, Harry finally handed Draco the papers. He looked at Draco oddly, but Draco thought little of it.

The man didn’t want to do it, clearly. Forcing him when Draco knew he’d probably do a crap job of it anyway was just a god awful method of making people do more work. It wasn’t as though Draco didn’t understand Potter’s dislike of paperwork. There were many things that Draco didn’t want to do, paperwork, well, was one of the lesser evil. Time saved for both of them, and no more Robards on his arse. It was simply easier.

Draco left Potter there, looking slightly suspicious and befuddled, but honestly, that just made Draco snort. Though Draco may now be a goon himself, an inferior doing things for other superior people instead of the opposite; it wasn’t as bad as people believed it to be. It became routine. It was peaceful.

It was later at night, when he had his reading glasses on and he was sifting through the pile of evidence for the illegal potion trafficking case Robards wanted, that Harry James Potter knocked on his office door.

“Potter, it’s not locked.” Not that locked doors had any meaning to a slew of Aurors. “Come in.”

Harry shuffled in, his shiny, new dragonhide boots scooting through the doorway first (lucky bastard), then proceeded to sit down on the nearby armchair. It was a dark green -- the armchair Potter was on -- mostly for nostalgic purposes. Draco could have charmed it any color he wanted, but there was always something about green that drew him in.

Potter watched Draco sift in silence. Since Potter didn’t say anything, Draco didn’t either. He kept his line of sight focused on the pile of evidence, which was a fairly good excuse to avoid eye contact.

“We should get dinner.” said Potter, without stutter. Which was relevant, as the case normally was Potter always did. Especially in Draco’s office. He usually looked shy and intimidated here.

In surprise of Potter’s assertion in a place he normally wasn’t, Draco had to pause what he was doing, set his glasses down and raise his gaze. Potter continued to watch him like a hawk, green eyes full of meaning he didn’t get. Draco was easily provoked -- especially by Potter -- so narrow his eyes Draco did and directed a glare unwaveringly back.

It was almost laughable, what they were doing. “At...” Draco clicked his tongue and checked his pocket clock. “...one in the morning.” Right.

“Yes,” confirmed Potter, gaze latching unto Draco’s every movement. It sent a tingle down his spine and Draco wished ever so fervently he could punch him so it would stop.

Neither budged an inch. After about a quarter of an hour (which was an abnormally long amount of time for something as silly as a staring contest), Draco’s patience ran thin, not because he couldn’t keep going, but because he was curious. The reason as to his ability to keep going was another conundrum entirely.

“Why?”

“Why not?” replied Potter, the bastard.

Draco gave himself a long stretch, one arm tucked behind his head and the other outstretched above him. A sedentary life tends to do that even to Aurors. “Potter, there are many reasons as to why not.”

Potter seemed genuinely interested in this answer, so it was then that he repeated his question. “Why not?”

“Well for one, it’s bloody witching hour and you’d be surprised to find a soul working the kitchens. House elves don’t slave for the ministry anymore, remember?”

“Not here, obviously.” Potter scoffed, a small quirk in his lips. “You shouldn’t even be here this late.”

“ _Potter_ , it’s _good_ that I’m here this late. Though perhaps absent from the forefront of your rather uncomplicated mind, it _would_ be rather foolish to have _everyone_ go home at a decent hour, regardless of ideal working conditions Granger may have embedded into your skull, because then _no one_ would be present for the security of the ministry in case anyone would wish to target Britain’s valued, shall we say, _‘trinkets_ ’ located in the -- and apparently now unsupervised --  Department of Mysteries.”

Draco was fairly proud of his well-delivered speech, so it irked him that Potter simply brushed it aside and said, “I meant you, Draco. You were supposed to go home at a ‘decent hour’ otherwise Pansy wouldn’t have texted me. There are others keeping watch, not just you, you know, or it _would_ be rather foolish.”

Pansy. The cow! She was snitching on him. Roommates or not, her blatant acceptance of muggle technology was particularly hindrancing to his self isolation. “Let’s say that’s true, it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve told you _why not_ and you’ve got nothing other than Pansy’s alleged text to convince me to let you... what, come again?”

“Drag you out to dinner.”

“Drag. Me out... to dinner. Right. With no one working the kitchens.”

“I’ll cook. I’m not a horrid cook, I promise.”

“Potter.”

“Come on, Draco. You didn’t have to take the report off my hands, but you did. Let me treat you to dinner.”

“Oh, so it’s for the report. No need, you probably won’t believe me if I told you I did it for fun.”

Potter made a frustrated sigh then. Draco had made sure he was being purposefully obtuse in order to have the upper hand. Truth be told, Draco enjoyed toying with him far more than he should, and he really shouldn’t be enjoying it so much because it’s times like these that his inner thoughts betrayed his expression.

There was a beat, before Potter said, “Fine. Have it your way. Carry on then.” Before he promptly left Draco’s office with a solid door slam -- and that was that.

The silence bloomed for a long moment. Draco sighed. He leaned on his elbow and flipped a page of evidence with an air of disdainful boredom. The places where Potter was always left a gaping chasm when he left, but Draco was used to it, he had a decade’s worth of practice, after all. Golden Boy might be done with his shenanigans, but it was Draco’s bread and butter. With a sniff, Draco continued to sort through Potter's report, smirking at the chicken scratch writing littering the blanks of the report.

It was invariably easier enjoying things from afar. It’s what he’d always done.

 

~o~

 

When it came three in the morning, Draco wrapped everything up into a folder, flung his office door open and sent the report flying towards Robards’ office with a flick of his wand. There was a thunk and an “Ow!” which sounded vaguely like Potter, which was odd, considering he should have left earlier.

“ _Potter?_ What in Merlin’s name are you still doing here?” Draco cast a hasty _lumos_ just to make sure, and there he was: Harry James Potter lying on the side of the hallway, rubbing his nose.

“Well, I waited till you had your fun, didn’t I? Reckon you’re hungrier than before too.” Then there was that cheeky grin of his, that ‘outwitted you’ face that both irritated Draco and made him feel butterflies in his stomach.

“Oh, piss off, you should have gone to bed when I took that report off your hands. You could have actually rested! Are you mad? What are you doing still awake at this ungodly hour? Potter, there are better things to do than waste time in front of my office.”

“I’m not mad. Why’d you want me to rest up anyway?”

Perhaps it was because Draco was tired too, but he lacked the energy to argue or do word games anymore. “Because you were lacking sleep! Why else?” said Draco, irritably.

“And how’d you know I was lacking sleep?”

Draco pushed past the baffling man, but Potter was quick to follow behind. “How is it possible you have more energy now than before? Potter, you’re easy to read, don’t you ever question how Granger and Weasley always have treacle tart ready when you’re feeling sour?”

Potter laughed at that. “Right, so I suppose then, like Ron and Hermione, you took the report off my hands because you sensed my mood? Draco...” and Harry had said it in a tone oozing with endearment that Draco had to gag. Potter even had the gall to laugh some more. “You’re more honest like this.”

“Potter, I will murder you, I swear to Salazar.”

“You can murder me after dinner, sound good to you?”

Draco supposed it was a losing battle against the Chosen One. He’d been hungry for quite a while, his stomach now clearly growling, and his mental acuity in shambles, it was hard to find a viable excuse. With a bit of half-hearted whinging, Draco agreed, and was pleased to see another infallible smile from the Golden Boy.

“You’re oddly caring of me, Potter. I can’t for the life of me understand why. It’s not necessary.”

Potter chuckled. “Necessary or not, we’ve moved on, remember? To better things. Besides...I _wanted_ to.” Potter grabbed his hand then, not just held, but laced his fingers with Draco’s. What was terrible about it was that Draco let him. Potter's hand was warm and a just little damp. Draco was nervous about it, and Potter sensed it, because he started rubbing soothing circles on the back Draco's hand with a thumb. Draco let him do that too.

When they finally arrived at the Apparition point, Potter apparated them both smoothly to 12 Grimmauld place.

There they ate there with small snorts and laughs, but before Draco could finish murdering him, fatigue made his eyelids heavy, and he couldn’t remember when he’d fallen asleep. Potter tucked him in, apparently, as there was a warm blanket covering him in the morning. It was mortifying to know Potter caught him asleep, but he never brought it up after (to Draco’s great relief).

They just simply had dinner again the next night, and the next night, and the next.

Draco didn’t care that they had dinner, but dinner meant something else entirely to him: the significance that it had become a routine in his life, and that Harry James Potter was there to share it with him.

 


End file.
